The Scoundrel. Lisa Plumley

      Two months later

       S arah Crabtree’s first proposal of marriage came between geography and literature during her inaugural year of teaching. She blamed it largely on student boredom and vowed to make her lessons more involving. The second came a year and a half later, coupled with a ten-year-old’s favorite frog and a promise to “study ’rithmatic harder.” She pinned her pretty pink gown for that one and vowed to dress more sensibly.

      Neither of those proposals prepared her for the third one, though, which she received on a blustery afternoon in late October. For it, she could find no excuse at all…but she did promise herself to remember it. Because it came from the man she’d been sweet on for years, and it wasn’t likely to be repeated.

      It started out innocently enough, after lessons had ended for the day. She’d just climbed on the schoolhouse ladder to shelve some books when her longtime friend Daniel McCabe strode in, filling the small timber-framed room with the scent of the outdoors, his loud footfalls and his undeniably masculine presence.

      “That’s it,” he announced, stopping beside her ladder in clear exasperation. “I need a wife.”

      I volunteer, she almost blurted.

      No, that would never do. She’d hidden her feelings for too long now. She couldn’t go casting them about willy-nilly at the first opportunity. Clenching her hand on the next book, Sarah made herself affect an airy tone.

      “My, my, Daniel. Those are four words I never thought to hear from you.”

      “Well, you just did. I mean it, too.”

      At the grumble he gave, Sarah chanced a downward glance. Yes, Daniel looked exactly as burly and wonderful as he always did. Also, fairly perturbed. The realization stifled the sigh she’d been about to unloose. Hoping to improve his mood, she tried teasing.

      “You don’t fool me.” She moved down a few rungs, skirts swishing, for the next armload of books. “You’d as soon pluck out every hair on your head as settle down with one woman.”

      “Hmmph. I think I’m doing that anyway. Maybe it’s time to get some help.”

      “Help pulling out your hair?” Sarah grinned. “Grace would volunteer. Her ladies’ aid group is making hand-woven hair switches for convalescents this week.”

      He stared, agape. Hiding her grin with a studious-looking scrutiny of the volumes in her arms, Sarah grabbed the ladder. She climbed higher. Sometimes she thought Daniel truly didn’t understand her sister’s altruistic nature. Many people did not.

      “No. I want to keep what’s left.” Ruefully, he rubbed his scalp.

      She caught the telltale motion and looked around for the one person who could always rile up Daniel McCabe. Little Eli was just visible through the schoolhouse window, hopping outdoors in the autumn-crisped grass.

      Hmm. Perhaps Daniel had reached the end of his renowned patience. A child like Eli could do that to a person. The whole town had been predicting it since Daniel took the boy in.

      He saw the direction of her gaze. Frowned. “Last month, Eli nicked penny candy from Luke’s mercantile. Two days after that, he let loose all of old lady Harrison’s chickens. It took her hours to find them all. A week ago, he got caught pulling the girls’ hair on the way home from school.”

      “An eye for the ladies,” Sarah murmured. “Like father, like son.”

      His sharp-eyed look stopped her. She didn’t know what he was so irritated about. Although Eli was the very image of Daniel himself, Sarah didn’t really believe all those rumors about Daniel having illegitimately fathered the boy. Daniel claimed Eli was his nephew, and she trusted him. He knew that. But whatever their relationship, the saying fit.

      Daniel was a rogue. Eli was a rapscallion. They were a matched set, an ideal—if troublesome—twosome.

      “Yesterday, he swapped my coffee beans for dirt clods,” Daniel went on, obviously too beleaguered to take exception any further. He strode across the schoolroom, past the desks and the children’s hastily pushed-in benches. “When I took a big slurp of the brew, he laughed his fool head off.”

      “You couldn’t tell the difference?”

      “Afterward, I could. And now.” His glare could have pierced the windowpane, it was so severe. Beyond it, Eli frolicked, unconcerned. “Another tussle at school. This is the third time this month.”

      “You don’t have to tell me,” Sarah said gently. Eli’s adjustment to life in Morrow Creek had not been easy—and it had not yet been fully accomplished, either. “I’ve been trying to help him. To help you both. You know I have.”

      Daniel inclined his head, silently acknowledging the visits she’d paid to their bachelor house, the books she’d read, the meals she’d delivered courtesy of the Crabtrees’ cook. But he didn’t stop pacing—and he didn’t look much relieved, either.

      “But,” she continued, “I won’t allow any child to disrupt my classroom or my other students. That’s why I had to ask you to come collect Eli yourself today.”

      Daniel fisted his hand, frustration evident in every line of his hardened body. “I can’t keep leaving my blacksmith’s shop like this. I need to earn my living.”

      “You need to be a father to Eli.”

      He shook his head. “That’s not enough.” He wheeled around, his expression newly determined. “What I need is a wife. A good one.”

      That again. He couldn’t be serious. Daniel McCabe was the most well-known scoundrel in the northern part of the territory. Although Sarah hadn’t captured his heart for herself, she knew she didn’t have to worry about another woman accomplishing that miracle, either. Daniel didn’t honestly want a bride. The very idea was outlandish. He was simply overwrought right now because of Eli’s shenanigans.

      She shelved another book, then gave him a complacent wave. “A ‘good’ wife, hmmm? I may be wrong, Daniel, but I don’t think you’re in any position to be dictatorial.”

      He snorted. His raised eyebrows made her smile. Clearly, the notion that he might not always be in command of things came as an astonishment to him.

      “A wife will take care of Eli,” he said, his enthusiasm for taking a bride undimmed. “A wife is what I’ve needed all along. I should have gotten myself one weeks ago.”

      “You can’t order a wife from the Bloomingdale Brothers’ catalog, like a new suit.”

      But Daniel wasn’t listening. He was running his hand through his hair again, thinking. He pulled his palm away and frowned anew.

      “I’ve pulled out more hair than I thought these past weeks. At this rate, I’ll be bald before winter’s out.”

      She glanced downward, bemused. Nothing had changed—Daniel still possessed enough thick, dark hair for a man and a half. Besides, he’d still be handsome to her, even with no hair at all. Sarah wanted to tell him so, to put his mind at ease. But experience had taught her better than that.

      Instead, she settled on, “Bald, eh? All right, then. I guess you’d better hurry up with that wife business.”

      “Hmmph.”

      Pointedly, she peered at the crown of his head. “You wouldn’t want to scare away any potential brides.”

      Amid another surreptitious examination of his locks, he stilled his hand. “They’re that fussy?”

      As a spinster herself, Sarah had no idea. But she knew Daniel didn’t, either. So she nodded knowledgeably. “The savvy ones are. The ones who want a husband with a full head of hair.”

      He furrowed his brow, looking increasingly worried. She felt a little deceitful, carrying on this way. But she simply couldn’t resist. It wasn’t often Daniel was uncertain about anything—especially